


Like the dew I begot you

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-12
Updated: 2005-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Peter goes to a book auction and meets a fellow collector.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the dew I begot you

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Psalm 110, the text of "Dixit dominus". The books are all real, and part of the University of London's [Harry Price Library of Magical Literature](http://www.shl.lon.ac.uk/specialcollections/hpl.shtml). I think this explains a lot about Paul Delagardie, really.

Lord Peter Wimsey strolled down Piccadilly, humming all five parts of the Handel "Dixit dominus" as he considered his strategy for the morning's auction. There was nothing in the catalogue that called to him beyond reason, but certainly there were a number of items which would enhance his library: in particular, incunabulae including a clean and tight _Malleus Maleficarum_ and a lovely illustrated _De Lamiis et Phitonicis Mulieribus_. He furled his umbrella and lightly sprang up the steps into Christie's.

He took his usual seat, toward the front and with a clear view of the rostrum. A somber man in morning clothes cleared his throat: "Ladies and gentlemen, we now present Sale 718, the Magical Library of Witford Hambleworthy." As the auction began, Lord Peter made careful notes in the margins of his catalogue. He was biding his time - early lots were merely the _amuse-bouche_ before anything substantial was offered. Nevertheless, he noticed that a man across the hall was steadily accumulating the small lots at little cost: _The Boys' Own Conjuring Book_ , _Modern Magic_ in a sixth edition with some foxing, a broadsheet titled _An Account of the Extraordinary Existence of Ann Moor, of Tutbury, Shropshire, Who Has, Since June 1807, Lived Entirely Without Food_.

The auction progressed through Italian and German works on ghosts and demonic possession, some American children's books on conjuring, and eventually into the section of the catalogue devoted to witchcraft. Wimsey sat up and screwed his monocle more firmly into place. He noticed the man across the room also taking a stronger interest in the proceedings. Wimsey smiled to himself. These things were far more interesting with a bit of competition.

::

At the auction's conclusion, the lucky winners moved toward the front: first to pay, then to collect and admire their new treasures. Lord Peter found himself next to the other man, a tall fellow in an unusual black robe which gave him the effect of an Oxford don who had wandered away from his rooms and found himself, much to his surprise, in an auction house.

"We seem to have split the bounty rather evenly," said Lord Peter to his antagonist.

"Indeed," said the robed man. "I admit that I was nearly satisfied with the early lots, but the _Maleficarum_ was too much to resist. I shall be on short reins for the rest of term, but I think it well worth the privation."

Wimsey chuckled as he accepted the carefully-wrapped _De Lamiis_.

The man's eyes twinkled. "I beg your pardon, but you seem familiar to me. Might I inquire your name?"

"Peter Wimsey." He sketched a shallow bow.

The man smiled. "I thought you might be. Paul Delagardie is your uncle, is he not?"

Wimsey nodded.

"I was one of his schoolteachers," the man explained. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"From his time in Scotland, or the unspoken years in France?"

"Both, actually. I had a year or two between positions, but was delighted to see Paul in my classes when I came to Scotland." Dumbledore patted his armload of books. "To which I should return, lest our librarian accuse me of scooping the cream from today's marketing."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dumbledore," Wimsey said. "I shall mention our meeting to my uncle when I see him next."

"Please do," said Dumbledore. "You might also extend my greetings to the delightful Duchess."

Wimsey smiled. "You've met my mother?"

"Oh yes," Dumbledore said, his smile growing. "Quite a girl she was, in her day. Tell her I still think of her blue dress against the grey stones of Hogwarts."

"I should like to know more of that story." Wimsey's eyebrows rose as he composed the image.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ask your uncle. Best not to do it in your mother's presence, though." His eyes twinkled again as he shifted the books and offered his hand.

Wimsey watched as Dumbledore left with a faded red string bag full of well-aged texts on witchcraft and wizardry. Perhaps he'd push Parker and Biggs to another day in favor of letting Mrs. Merdle stretch her legs on a long run down to see his uncle, visiting at Duke's Denver. He left Christie's with his book, the Handel psalm twining in his mind with a fleeting image of his young mother walking alongside a tall lean schoolteacher, skirting the walls of an ancient stone castle.


End file.
